


Where The Twisted Alder Tree Grows

by Waistcoat35



Category: Classical Music RPF, Classicaloid (Anime)
Genre: Erlkonig AU, Fairytale style??, Gen, German Mythology - Freeform, He is short, May get slightly darker later on, Music, Original Franz Schubert, and adorable, fae, mythical creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 12:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10571427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waistcoat35/pseuds/Waistcoat35
Summary: Franz Peter Schubert is not like the other composers. He can remember two lives, both this one and the first - but he also remembers something in between. What happened on that fateful day in 1822 when a young composer disobeyed the warnings and was lured to the place where the alder trees grew gnarled and twisted?Schubert does not yet know - all he remembers is a single familiar face - one he must try to find amongst countless others in this strange new world - and the music.The music may be a greater key to his past than he thinks...(Erlking AU)





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I thought of this just before episode 21 aired, but I didn't want my ideas to be too much like the canon since we didn't know where the episode was going to go with the whole Erlking thing. I can safely say, thank goodness, that this is nothing like episode 21 and you will find no rap music here. I thought this idea was interesting - and for reasons I will explain later, this is the original Schubert so he's still short, chubby and an utter mushroom. If you like, please do tell me what you think so far and what questions you want answered. But if not, then I hope you enjoy reading this!

__

Brightness. That is the first thing I notice of this foreign new world I find myself in. The place seems to remain tied in a constant state of tension and rivalry, everyone and everything warring to be the brightest and the best, terrified of failing to reach significance in a universe that does not linger on ordinary, fleeting lives.  
But the brightness is preferable to if I were to retreat back into the supposed haven of the treeline - I know not what it is, but something stirs up unease within me whenever I look back at the forest.

It is as if something is watching me from within - as if I'm not supposed to be here. I am only here because something has allowed me to be. I can feel a tug at my consciousness - I should know what it is, but I can't remember. I can't recall a thing from my previous life - I know I had one, though. This name does not feel new, it feels like it has been passed down to me - and yet I must have grown up in this body, with this name, for I know no other. 

I haven't changed bodies or names - so this is no reincarnation. But I still can't remember my first thirty years or so - from my appearance - of life. Why is that? I could have hit my head, perhaps I simply have amnesia - but then why can I seem to recall something in between? I feel as though something came after my first phase of life, something that bridges the way between the beginning and where I am now. I feel like my mind is too old for my body - I have been somewhere where time has slowed. 

The question is - why have I left? And how did I get there in the first place?

I pick my way across the shoreline - the beach is deserted on this day, which is surprising given the fair weather. The birds make their way across the sand, webbed feet hitting the grains with a wet slapping sound. They comb every inch for some trace of food, but when they see me coming there is a change in the carefree atmosphere - they back away, feathers ruffling, and launch into the air with alarmed cries. This is not the regular reaction to somebody approaching them - it seems as though they can sense something as they watch from the cliffs, emitting a sound not dissimilar to hissing. What is wrong with me?

I try to brush off my growing sense of apprehension, reaching the end of the beach. There is only a city after this - that great, bright, twinkling expanse filled with giant machines and a near-constant roaring sound, so different from the melodies that usually fill my ears. I am afraid - but it is in this fear that I find my will to survive. Onward, then.

My name is Franz Peter Schubert, and these are the answers that I seek.


End file.
